


Edith's View

by dhelaines



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, F/M, Priest Kink, priest!petyr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7930174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhelaines/pseuds/dhelaines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The church stood forlorn against the low hanging sky, its brittle stones and mossy walls telling passersby of their village's modest means.</p><p>But what this parish lacked in money, it made up with the goodness of its people, guided by a priest full of grace and mercy, living and leading purely in the Name of the Lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edith's View

**Autumn, 1940**

She had never liked the girl.  
Since the day she had seen her arrive, dressed in a light grey coat and silken blouse, pearl earrings shimmering through her scarlett hair, she knew she would cause trouble. Girls like her always do.  
The men of the village stopped their chores in their gardens and fields and stared as she walked by with swift steps, her slender back straight, her gaze unmoving, carefully avoiding the manure left by the animals on the path. Edith was sitting on her porch with her neighbour Nora when she walked by, brown suitcase in hand.  
“Lysa's niece“, Nora explained, following Edith's glance, “all the way from fancy London.“  
“Isn't she a bit old to be sent away like all the other children?“, Edith said flatly, while watching the girl's long copper locks blowing in the afternoon breeze.  
“I heard she didn't have a choice. Her parents are dead. Killed during the last bombings.“  
Edith felt a sting of pity then, but only for a fleeting moment, until she saw her husband Ralph aproaching the girl on the same path, wishing her a good afternoon. The girl briefly dipped her head in greeting, then hurried on towards her aunt's house, the largest estate in this humble area. Ralph, that bumbling fool, could not help himself as he turned back to gawk at the girl, taking her in from her delicate neck to her long, pale legs.

She seldom saw the girl around the village. Lysa must be keeping her under locks at her house, rarely allowing her a trip into town. Edith wondered why that might be. Lysa herself did not show up that much either and for that the people of the village were thankful. As the widow of the recently deceased Jon Arryn, Lysa was left with such a fortune that would usually attract new suitors aplenty. But Lysa was difficult. Once a plump beauty with curves at all the right places, a loveless marriage and many miscarriages had made Lysa into a spiteful, catty woman, hopelessly trying to fit into gowns too small for her size, reeking of arrogance and desperation at the same time. The only time Lysa seemed to beam with youthful excitement was during sunday mass, when she would don her finest dresses and hats, her swollen face powdered so thickly Edith feared the woman might suffocate under the heavy paint.  
The first time Lysa took the girl to church Edith almost did not notice her. Making a late entrance as always, Lysa made sure that the people in attendance would take note of her alone. The girl followed Lysa's laboured prance with light steps, head bowed, and seated herself quietly next to her aunt in the first row, under Father Baelish's ever watchful gaze.  
Father Baelish did not halt his sermon despite Lysa's obvious attempt at getting his attention. Why would he, thought Edith, wrinkling her nose in slight disdain, since no man in miles would even consider looking at that awful woman twice. Father Baelish was a man of God and – as she assumed – someone with a taste for things much more refined. His short dark hair with those silver patches along the temples, impeccably coiffed as always, shone lightly as he moved his head in the candlelight. He would have been dressed suitably for a man his age and his position, the plain black cassock falling smoothly around his lean physique, were it not for the many lavish gold rings he wore on almost each of his fingers.  
There were rumours about him having traveled the world extensively before coming here to their little village and even smaller church eight months ago, about prayers during rebellions in far away lands, about absolution given on blood-soaked battlefields. But Father Baelish had only smiled apologetically that one time she had gathered enough courage to ask him. “Maybe another time, dear Edith“, he had said in that usual singsong of his and then had stroaked her little daughter Lottie's blonde curls affectionately. Edith remembered how her suspicions had evaporated after watching him being so gentle with her child and how she had told Ralph that night that “whatever reasons the dear Father must have for conceiling his past, I'm sure he does it in the Name of God.“ 

After mass, Lysa assumed her usual spot and started pestering Father Baelish at the church door. Her shrill laughter rang through the morning air as Edith and the rest of the community made their way past Lysa's thick frame. The reason Lysa was so smitten with Father Baelish was obvious. It was how he listened to her patiently, always courteous, always helpful, never showing the slightest bit of annoyance. The girl stood in silence beside her aunt, tall and rigid, her hands clasped in her lap. Edith watched as Father Baelish studied the girl's face with thoughtful eyes, finally adressing her directly: “And who might you be, my child?“  
The girl looked up rather startled, her big blue eyes flickering uncertainly between her aunt and the priest, before finally settling on the Father's finely lined face. “My name is Sansa Stark, Father. I'm Lady Arryn's niece.“  
Father Baelish smiled as he bowed his head slightly: “I'm glad to make your acquaintance, Sansa. If you ever need help or guidance, my doors are always open.“  
“Thank you, Father.“  
How considerate of Father Baelish to offer her his services, Edith mused. Though when her gaze fell upon the village boys standing at the church gate, all of them whispering and nudging each other excitedly as they gaped at Lysa's niece, Edith could not help but think that prayers would be the last thing the girl had in mind.

The few times Edith would see Sansa was when her aunt sent her to the market for errands. The Arryn's had maids for as long as Edith could remember, but there was a war raging on the other side of the Irish Sea, and the lack of resources was felt even here in the middle of nowhere. Besides, Edith felt that Lysa had an education in mind when she ordered the girl to do labour usually not fit for a girl of her status.  
_You are not special here. Know your place._  
Sansa adapted accordingly. She never wore her initial expensive attire again, leaving her pearls and silk at home, only dressing in plain cotton dresses and woolen socks, her fashionably curled hair replaced by a simple braid running down her back. Her face was unmade like most of the women here, but that did not lessen her beauty the slightest. In fact, everytime Sansa stood in line at the butcher's stand, her pale cheeks flushed in the autumn chill, her fiery strands falling onto her forehead like a ray of sunshine, the usually brash butcher´s boy Harry could barely utter a sound. But still, the girl made herself unaproachable. She never joined the groups of women and girls standing around the marketplace, always leaving immediately after fullfilling her tasks. The only times she would stop was when she ran into Father Baelish, but then it was also only him speaking, inquiring politely about her well-being. The girl would only nod her blushing head and scurry away, leaving the Father looking worried.  
“You'd think she'd have been raised better in that rich London household of hers“, Edith remarked one day, while waiting for Nora to finish buying her potatoes.  
Nora shrugged, annoyingly unperturbed by the girl. “Maybe she's just shy. It's not that easy being an orphan and coming to this place to live with an aunt like that.“  
Edith said nothing, but she knew. While watching Sansa give Harry a timid smile and a bashful look over her shoulders, Edith knew that this coy exterior was only a mask worn on that porcelain face. 

One evening, after Edith had fetched Lottie from a playdate with little Claire a few streets away, she saw Ralph standing in front of their home talking to the girl. A flash of irritation soared through her as she watched the way Ralph roared with laughter, his arms folded over his swollen chest, his hips leaning lazily at their garden gate. Sansa laughed too, a gentle sound coming out of her barely parted lips. As soon as she saw Edith approaching she took an instant step back to the road. “Good evening, Mrs O'Donovan. Good evening, Lottie.“  
“Sansa,“ Edith said curtly, not bothering to disguise the coolness of her voice, “It's late. You should be home at this time of the day.“  
Sansa nodded politely while giving her a smile dripping with sweetness. “I was on my way home. Father Baelish finished his lesson later than usual.“  
It was undoubtely Lysa's idea to make poor Father Baelish teach the girl the rules of catholism, claiming that her education was severely lacking in that regard because of her London upbringing. But it was clear to Edith and everyone else that this was Lysa's way of binding Father Baelish closer to her, to give her an excuse to linger around even longer after mass. And Father Baelish, ever the dutiful shepherd, obliged.  
Ralph laughed again his exaggerated laugh. “I hope the old man doesn't bore you to death, i remember how i slept through most of sunday school.“  
“Father Baelish is only a few years older than _you_ , and not everyone has the attention span of a kitchen mouse,“ Edith snapped, more forceful than she had intended.  
Sansa watched their exchange quietly, hands clasped in front of her again. “Father Baelish is very kind to teach me. He has been very patient,“ she said.  
As the evening breeze whirled around the fallen leaves beneath their feet, Edith caught an odd scent coming from the girl. The faint smell of fresh sweat. She must have run from the parish house to be sweating in this cold autumn weather. But why did she stop to talk to Ralph if she was in such a hurry?  
“I must go now“, Sansa finally said, “it was nice talking you both, Mr. and Mrs. O'Donovan.“  
And with that she vanished into the darkness.  
Edith ushered Lottie inside without deigning Ralph a single look. “Edith“, she heard Ralph say as he closed the front door behind him, “i was thinking of inviting Lysa Arryn and Sansa to dinner next saturday. Sansa could also look after Lottie when you are tired...“ Before she knew what she was doing, Edith had spun around and slapped him across the face. Ralph fell silent in shock, holding his cheek and watching Edith storm into their bedroom with a whining Lottie in her arms. The door slammed shut with force. 

And thus, Sansa Stark made her way past Edith's house regularily while walking to and back from her lessons at the parish house. Edith made sure to be home at those times of the day, not giving Ralph another chance to talk to the girl and display that embarrassing behaviour again for the whole neighbourhood to see. Ralph had been avoiding the girl himself, while looking sheepishly at his wife every night she shut him out of their bedroom. Edith knew she was being too hard on him, but he needed to be taught a lesson.  
_Stay away from Sansa Stark._  
At first glance, the girl seemed to attend her lessons dutifully. But as the days went by with Edith watching Sansa on her way home from her kitchen window, she started to notice something off about her. First, she began to wear her silken blouse again, too exquisite and sheer to be deemed appropriate for the Lord's house. Then there was the way the girl smiled to herself while walking slowly along the path as if to delay her arrival at her aunt's estate.  
_Wicked. Shameless._  
She would sigh and bite her bright pink lips, her eyes watery, her neck and cheeks flushed. Sometimes she would raise her hand and brush over her lips, drag her fingers along her long pale neck. It was only during the next market when Edith observed the hunger in Harry's eyes as he watched the blushing girl that everything fell into place. That godless little girl was not properly attending those lessons at church, but fooled around with the butcher's boy instead. The butcher's boy who was already engaged to another. Edith imagined her letting him touch her perk breasts beneath the shiny silk, her back pressed against the mossy church walls, her legs spread apart widely. All those things Harry's chaste fiancé would not grant him until their wedding night Sansa would give freely. She smirked.  
_Got you now, little skank._

The next sunday, Lysa was curiously absent from mass. Edith wondered what grave illness must have befallen the woman, since she could not imagine the reason that would prevent Lysa from pining after Father Baelish during those early sunday hours. Though she might not need to wait until mass to see the good father anymore. Rumour had it that Lysa had invited Father Baelish countless times over to her house for dinner, no doubt thanking him for trying to steer her ill-bred niece onto the rightful path. A lost cause, Edith knew, while observing the girl's delicate shoulders in the first row. The girl had made her way to her usual spot despite her aunt's absence, and was listening intently to Father Baelish's sermon. She was leaning forward a little, her face cast upwards, her hand's no doubt clasped tightly in her lap, putting on her usual show of unscathed virtue. But Edith had seen the way she smiled at her husband, the way she lightly brushed against Harry's leg as she walked past him on her way to her bench this morning, had seen Harry's barely conceiled expression of lust, his fiancé's puffy eyes and sullen face.  
Who does she think she is, coming to this place full of upright good-hearted people and leading them into sinful debauchery? Her ways might be the norm in that english cesspool full of infidels, but this place, this village Edith would protect with every fibre in her body.  
On her way out she made sure to be the last one meeting Father Baelish at the door. She felt the anticipation rising in her stomach as she watched the girl giving the priest only the slightest of nods and then stepping away quickly. Maybe she did feel a little contrite about wasting the Father's earnest efforts. If he only knew what she was doing after those lessons of his...  
“Father, what a splendid sermon this morning“, she said while shaking his ringed hands.  
“Hearing this praise from you thrills me to no end, Edith“, Father Baelish laughed, while looking into her eyes with open kindness. Edith noted the laugh lines around his eyes that put her heart so utterly at ease.  
“This parish is so lucky to have you“, she continued, instilling her voice with enthusiasm, “a steady hand to help and guide them through these difficult times.“  
She stepped back a bit and gestured towards the chattering crowd standing around the church entrance, guiding his view towards the ginger girl and the butcher's boy a few feet away from the others. Sansa stood with her face turned towards Harry, her hands hugging her ellbows, her eyes downcast, a shy smile playing at the corner of her lips. Harry's demeanour was far less subtle, as he let his eyes roam over her svelte body, whispering into the girl's ear, standing far too close to her to be deemed appropriate. That foolish boy is making it so easy, Edith thought, barely containing her own smirk.  
Father Baelish of course noticed the couple instantly. His grey-green eyes narrowed in disaproval, his thin lips forming a hard line. Edith pretended to follow his gaze and let out a woeful sigh. “Such a sweet girl, Sansa. And your efforts concerning her are highly admirable.“  
“Yes“, said Father Baelish, rather absent-minded, while still watching Harry and Sansa steadily, taking in the whole scene, “Sansa is an excellent student, very intelligent, very keen to learn.“  
Harry had now moved even closer to the girl, even daring to lift his hand and tuck a red strand behind her reddening ear.  
Edith chose her words carefully. “She is very young though. Girls her age might not know what's best for them. They might stray too easily from the Lord's path...“  
Father Baelish loosened his gaze on the couple and glared at her instead, suddenly looking quite alarmed. “What are you trying to tell me, Edith?“  
Edit moved forward and put her hands on his arm. “I've seen her sinning, Father“, she lied, her voice barely a whisper, “After your lessons, on her way back to her aunt's home. With Harry. She...she made him touch her.“ She watched the priest's face as his whole body tightened.  
“That is worrisome indeed“, he said after a while, his voice infused with righteous irritation and concern.  
He turned and took both of her hands in his. Warm, dry hands, Edith thought, except for the cool sensation of his rings.  
“Thank you Edith, for being so honest with me“, he said, looking deeply into her eyes. Edith felt her mouth go slack as she gazed into those grey-green pools of his. “You did the right thing. It might not be be too late to correct her unfortunate missteps. I will take matters into my own hand and try and be a good shepherd to this straying little lamb.“  
He laughed then, and Edith joined in his laughter, feeling as pleased as she had never felt before. 

It was a few days after mass when Edith stood at her kitchen sink one afternoon, washing the plates Lottie used at lunch. She had told her daughter to dress herself, as they were already late to her playdate with Claire. Today would be the day Sansa would normally make her way to the parish house, but Edith found herself strangely unfazed by that. She felt good, the way she had told Father Baelish of her concerns. It was the right thing to do. She could have strewn lewd rumours about the girl at the village market place, shun her like so many women would. But she chose to disclose her information to the most trusted man here, someone who would actually care enough to properly educate Sansa. My good deed for this month, she thought, while humming lightly to herself.  
That was when she saw her. And she was not alone.  
The plate slipped from her hands into the sink. She could barely believe the sight in front of her. There she was, giggling timidly as she walked down the road next to Harry, laughing at his jokes. She wore her silken blouse again, and even put on her swanky pearl earings. Harry looked at her in heat, inches apart from her, his hands twitching in barely refrained anticipation. This impudent little harlot, parading her disgraceful affair with the boy for everyone to see, not caring the slightest about his reputation and that of his poor betrothed. On her way to the good Father's lessons even! Edith let out a sound of frustration as the feeling of anger overwhelmed her. She would no get away with this, she swore to herself as she hastily threw on her coat, not this time, not after the lenience she had shown her before. She waited until the couple vanished behind the large oak tree at the end of the road, then took Lotties hand and followed them with cautious steps.  
It was fortunate that little Claire's home lay a little outside behind the village church, so it would not seem suspicious in case the shameless pair might detect her. Edith pushed a sweet into Lotties mouth to keep her quiet, and the little girl chewed happily while walking beside her mother. In the distance, Edith saw how the boy and girl started to slow their steps as the church came into view. Harry leaned forward, whispered into her ear, slung an muscled arm around her tender waist, but she shyed away from him, taking several steps to the side. Sansa turned to face Harry, moving her hands in swift gestures. Edith could almost hear the girl's hushed voice: _“Not here Harry, wait until i'm finished, behind the gate, as usual.....“_ She could almost see her smile, sweet and sticky like honey, could almost catch a glimpse of the tongue she would poke out and run over her rosy lips. But Harry was insistent. Maybe she had stalled him after their far too obvious display on sunday, had denied him her little cunt for longer than she had before. Harry took a bold step forward and grabbed her neck. He pulled her towards him, crushing his lips onto her open mouth, devouring her with a fervor that left Edith speechless. All of a sudden the door of the parish house flew open and Father Baelish stepped into view. Lottie squealed in delight as Edith dragged her behind a bale of hay, hoping to God that the priest had not seen them.  
Sansa tore herself away from Harry immediately, dropping her arms to her sides. Father Baelish's face was too distant for Edith to make out his expression, but the manner in which Harry shrank back told her everything she needed to know. She could hear her heart jumping with glee as she observed the scene unfolding in front of her. To her disappointment, Father Baelish did not make any rash movements or shouted at the youngsters standing on the road. He simply outstretched his arm and beckoned Sansa towards him. Sansa obeyed and walked towards the parish house with her head hung low. When she reached him at the door, he rested a heavy hand on her shoulder and guided her inside, not before throwing Harry one last look. Edith could see Harry squirming under his glare, shifting his feet helplessly in the mud. The door fell shut with a thud, and Harry turned instantly in order to hurry back to the place he came from, his head so red Edith feared it might explode.  
He did not notice her or Lottie when he passed the bale.  
After a while, Edith stepped out onto the street again and continued briskly towards their destination. She felt a strange kind of elation, the satisfying feeling of being proven right, and could not help but grin all their way to Claire's home. Finally that brazen little whore would be reigned in, would feel the wrath of God in all its glory. And she contributed, gave Father Baelish a reason to look out more for the machinations of this girl, helped a lost soul find its way back into the Lord's embrace.  
She laughed when Claire's mother opened the door and greeted her with kisses on both cheeks. After a quick exchange of pleasantries, she hugged her daughter tightly and departed again. Her mood was not even spoiled when it started to rain on her way back, not the pouring kind, just a faint drizzle that sprayed her face. She slowed her pace when she passed the church. It stood forlorn against the low hanging sky, its brittle stones and mossy walls telling passersby of their village's modest means. But what this parish lacked in money, it made up with the goodness of its people, guided by a priest full of grace and mercy, living and leading purely in the Name of the Lord. Edith watched the orange light glowing out of the window of the parish house and wondered how the Father might reprimand the girl this very moment. Would he even reprimand her? Or would the sheer weight of his disapointment break her to pieces?  
Edith was about to resume her walk home when a peculiar sound reached her ear. She stopped. At first, she could not discern the nature of it. It was only when she heard it again moments later she recognized what it was. A long, drawn-out whine, feeble and faint in the rainsoaked air. Edith listened carefully, trying to determine where it came from. She let her eyes wander back to the parish house, the only possible source for the noise. Her heart thumped as excitement rose within her. This had been such an eventful afternoon. Surely she could take a look, finish this day with a feeling of accomplishment...? Before her mind could tell her otherwise, Edith sneaked towards the house with careful steps, putting one foot after another tentatively. As she got closer, she could see that the window facing away from the street was left ajar. Warm light streamed out of it, as another cry escaped from the window, this time followed by ragged breathing. Edith held her breath as she moved closely along the wall, sweat starting to pool under her arms. She felt her stomach tightening, making her almost feel sick.  
_There is still time to turn back. Father Baelish's privacy should not concern you._  
But she did not.  
At last, she reached the open window and peered inside, blood rushing through her ears like waterfalls.  
At first, she could not make out that much from her angle. There were white walls, with a wooden shelf in front, filled with dusty books. But then she saw movement on the lower corner of her eyes and realized that the Father's dark mahogany desk was right in front of the window. And Sansa Stark was sprawled across it, on her back, her long red tresses fanning around her like a crown of fire. The girl's eyes were closed, her fine brows furrowed almost in agony, her swollen red lips hung open in an inaudible cry. Her milky white breasts, small and taut and perfect, laid bare, the expensive silken blouse having been shoved away carelessly.  
Edith stood in front of the window, eyes wide in shock, not being able to process the view before her. Sansa moaned, her breath catching in her throat, and Edith realized that it was this girl's blissful whines she had heard before. She saw the girl's breath going shallow, her pink nipples heaving, as she writhed helplessly on the wooden desk.  
“Father, please.....“  
And when Sansa bucked her hips upwards, Edith caught the long ringed fingers gripping the girl's thighs.  
_No, this cannot be....._  
Father Baelish's usually immaculate salt and pepper hair was unkempt, made a mess by the girl's clawing fingers and his own sweat running down his temples. He was kneeling between Sansa's legs, his face buried deeply into her cunt, lapping at her greedily like a man dying of thirst. Everytime the girl struggled he grabbed her hips tighter, pulling her closer to him, stilling her, preventing her escape. And Sansa was lost. Her whole chest was flushed pink, the sounds from her mouth a spluttering mess of lustful wails.  
The priest growled into her pink flesh and quickened the already rapid pace of his tongue. The girl suddenly jerked, her whole body quivering, as her little face contorted in silent ecstasy. Her hands flew towards her mouth in a desperate attempt at stalling her whimpers, while her hips ground into the Father's face, riding out her last waves of carnal pleasure.  
Panting heavily, the Father got to his feet. Edith trembled as she watched his mouth, glistening with Sansa's wetness, pull into a savage grin. In one fluent movement he yanked the still trembling girl upwards and turned her over, her soft bottom now facing him. He was yet fully dressed, though his black cassock was slightly dishevelled, his own manhood hard and straining visibly against the fabric of his clothes. Sansa shook and squirmed on the table while her hands palmed at the flat surface, trying to steady herself for what's to come. Father Baelish's breath was going hard as he groped her buttocks firmly, kneading and spreading her cheeks in such a practised manner unheard of for a man of God.  
“What am I to do with you, my lost, innocent child“, he rasped into the girl's ear, while his fingers moved to free himself from his breeches, “what can i possibly do to make you stay away from the sinner's path?“  
Sansa did not, could not answer. She only reached behind her, trying to catch his hands on her hips and pull him closer.  
„Please Father, i beg you....“, she panted.  
“What, my child?“ A slap to her buttocks.  
The girl yelped, her hands falling down to the desk again, clutching hard.  
“Let me...feel you....all of you...“, she moaned between gritted teeth, cheeks aflame, her back arching, baiting.  
And Father Baelish obliged. Both cried out coarsly as he drove himself deep inside her. The Father sank forward with a hiss, delving his face into the girl's copper strands, digging his fingers so harshly into her flesh he was bound to leave marks.  
„Do you feel me now?“, he panted while filling her with erratic thrusts.  
“Yes, Father, yes!“, she cried with abandon, her face twisting in both pain and pleasure.  
He groaned into her hair and showered her neck with suckling kisses, his long ringed fingers snaking around her throat.  
“Will you let the boy touch your flesh again, taste you again?“, he snarled, tightening his grip on her tender jaw.  
The girl laughed then, a wild, raptured sound, ringing like bells. Her eyes were hooded, her raised brows sheathed with sweat, her pearl earrings tingling and sparkling with every thrust of his hips. A picture of depravity and filth, a girl so rotten, so irredeemably gone. Her pale hand sneaked up, cupping the priests head, grabbing roughly at his greying hair.  
“No Father...only you, only you“, she heaved, a delirious smile hanging on her lips.  
Her throat dry, her eyes burning with baffled tears, Edith watched and listened to the frantic coupling behind the window glass. As much as she wanted to run, to turn around and scream, she could not move those feet rooted to the ground. And so she took in the sinful display, the Father's fingers all over the girl's supple body, gripping her hair, skimming her breasts, sinking into the reddish curls between her thighs.  
Finally the man groaned, clutching the girl's waist hard as to keep himself from drowning. He pulled out, and with one last thrust spilled his seed onto the girl's bare back. The air was silent now except for the pair's laboured pants as Edith kept on watching, transfixed by the creamy strings of liquid dotted across Sansa's skin, a necklace of the most forbidden kind.  
When she lifted her gaze, he was staring at her.  
A chill ran down her spine as her eyes met his. She stumbled back, almost falling to the ground. Before she knew it, she was running, gasping, scrambling back the path towards her home, barely seeing where she was going due to the mist of red hot tears clouding her view. 

She cried the whole evening.  
The sobs shook her body as she sat on the edge of her marriage bed, hands clasped over her face, thighs crushed together to keep herself from dissolving completely.  
To put an end to the shameful throbbing in her loins.  
She was still weeping when she heard Ralph coming home, when he knocked on the door and asked what was the matter. She told him to go away. He did without protest, and for once Edith was glad to have married such a wimp of a man. When it was time to fetch Lottie she could not bear to walk past the church again, so she shouted through the closed door and ordered Ralph to take their daugher home instead. Her husband did not respond and simply walked out of their house, shutting the front door silently.  
After a while she lay down on the matress and stared at the ceiling wall. The crying made her eyes red and puffy and dulled her senses to a certain extent. But the things she had seen were etched behind her lids, no matter how hard she tried to suppress them. The harlot of a girl, grinning while arching her back without the slightest of shame, presenting her buttocks to the Father like a bitch in heat.  
And the Father, the poor, misguided Father, rutting behind her, his eyes dark und burning and lost, oh so lost in the carnal pleasures he was barred from all his life. Though Edith could not understand how he was able to move so surely, so practised, every touch of his hands, his mouth, his tongue absolutely measured despite his obvious desire. In control. Edith pressed her eyes shut. She remembered her own sensations behind the window glass and tried to convince herself that she had only felt pure outrage and nausea caused by viewing this unspeakable perversion. As if there was no fascination, no confusion at the terrible ache that had burned between her own thighs....  
Edith clenched her teeth as tears started to roll again.  
_No, she won't get me._  
There was no way in hell this godless little girl would ensnare her too. She had to get rid of her before the whole parish would be tainted beyond recognition by the girl's rotten allure. She had already enticed two men to their downfall, had tried it before with Ralph, were it not for herself putting an early end to it. No one else saw the danger simmering within the girl, no one except for herself. She had to get rid of her, but in a way that would not expose the Father. Because save for this one misstep, Father Baelish had been truly, utterly devoted to this parish and its people. Edith tried to recall his gaze through the window. Was ist shock? Shame? Rage? Surely he must be unable to sleep at night, thrashing around his bed ridden with guilt? Cursing the day Lysa sent the nymph to his door? How awful that must be, Edith thought, suffering in solitude, with no one to confess to.  
But she was there. She was the only one who knew, who saw him in this undignified position. She would be the one to grant mercy now, lending the Father an open ear while he confessed to her, only her, about his sins. Tomorrow after mass, she nodded to herself, tomorrow after mass she would approach him, look into his eyes and let him see her good intentions.  
The forgiveness.  
The kindness.  
She would rest a light hand on his arm and stroke his shoulders while he would sink against her with ragged sobs. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.“  
“Amen.“  
They sat. It seemed so ordinary, this sunday morning, with the lazy autumn rain falling to the ground outside the church walls. The parish was gathered inside, silent except for the occasional sniff and cough, listening to Father Baelish's soothing voice. Edith was crammed between Ralph and Lottie in a bench rather to the back. She did not dare to look at the priest during her arrival, her eyes stuck to the ground while her cheeks burned. A few times she thought she felt his eyes on her, but that might as well had been her own dreadful imagination. As the rites progressed, and Father Baelish's voice wallowed on without the slightest hitch, not showing the smallest hint at the scandalous occurence yesterday, Edith raised her gaze and stared at the priest and the young girl seated demurely in the first row. Sansa was dressed in her usual plain attire, all loose fabrics and wollen socks and innocent plaids. The only thing different was the scarf around her neck, no doubt for conceiling the purple marks left by the Father's wanton mouth. Lysa was back too, her demeanour not having changed at all, confirming to Edith that Lysa was as clueless as ever. She wondered how the woman would react if she knew of the pair's heated romps behind her back. She would probably throw the girl out the balcony, she thought, Lysa was that kind of woman. But telling Lysa would be her last resort. She would settle this mess in a civilised manner, thought Edith, clutching the hem of her skirt firmly.  
“Lamb of God, You take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.“  
Mercy. That is what she would grant the Father, and more. She would let him confide in her, her alone, for the one's that always give must be lend solace as well.  
“Lamb of God, You take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.“  
She felt a flurry in her stomach as she stood to queue behind the other attendants. To receive the holy communion at the Father's hand. The walk to the altar seemed endless, a walk of penance towards a pit that would swallow her whole. Beads of sweat formed on her temples.  
“Lamb of God, You take away the sins of the world, grant us peace.“  
She stood before him now. Her mind went blank when she gazed into his narrow face, smooth and blank like the face of Christ himself. How could this face been scruntched in carnal ecstasy just a few hours before? She swallowed hard as she watched those ringed fingers wrapped around the chalice still for an instant. He was watching her too, searching her face for hidden intentions, grey-green eyes wandering over her features almost callously. No, Edith wanted to say, feeling panic well inside her, I'm here for you.  
_I won't hurt you._  
_I won't betray you._  
After what seemed an eternity, Father Baelish finally smiled, the creases around his eyes dancing. He raised his arm and reached out to her, bidding her to kneel before him. Edith's breath hitched as she let out a sigh of relief, returning the priests smile graciously.  
Of course he knows, she thought while sinking down to her knees, he knows how good he has been to this parish, how irreplacable. And soon he would know how good she could be to him.  
Father Baelish kept smiling while he dipped the bread into the chalice, soaking it with wine. “The body and blood of Christ“, he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. Edith felt herself shudder as his fingers moved towards her mouth. Her mind ran wild, to places she feared it would...those fingers palming over rosy flesh, yanking at fiery hair, closing over a pulsing throat....a voice chanting “Father, o Father....“  
She shrieked when the pain hit her.  
Falling to her behind, she clutched her mouth as the blood started dripping from her lips. The crowd behind her became unsettled and people craved their necks to see the cause of the commotion. Ralph was calling out to her, but Edith barely heard him. The wine-drenched piece of bread lay before her on the ground. Already feeling tears filling her eyes, she forced herself to look up at the Father. He was looming over her, unmoving, his fingers clasped around the chalice, and smiling, always smiling. Though for Edith it seemed as if a fog had lifted, for at last she saw how the smile did not reach his eyes.  
_Had it ever?_  
Shortly before he was to put the bread into her opened mouth, he had taken her lower lip between forfinger and thumb and pinched down. Hard. Edith's eyes had flown open, her face twisting in pain, a rattled sound escaping her throat. Trying frantically to free herself from his grasp, she had thrashed her head away, ripping her lip in the process. And now her chin was stained red, whether from her blood or the wine she did not know.  
Father Baelish laughed. Bending down, he gripped her shoulders firmly and pulled her to her feet. “Poor Edith bit her tongue while receiving communion,“ he explained calmly to the people behind her. Edith trembled, not daring to wrench herself free this time. “Perhaps if she were to bridle her...eagerness, such mistake might not happen again.“  
His words were supposed to be light-hearted, and the people behind her certainly took it at such, for the sound of chuckles filled her ears. But Edith swallowed hard at the cruel edge in his voice, barely detectable for the unschooled ear.  
Meant for her alone.  
Mortified, she lowered her gaze and nodded weakly. The Father sneered and finally released her from his iron grip. Edith stumbled away, hair in dissaray, shaking so violently she had to bite down to keep her teeth from chattering. How could he?, was all she could think as she collapsed into a corner, fighting back tears with all her might, how could he hurt her like this? Threaten her like this?  
The pain in her lip throbbed harshly. She was on his side, always had been, had done nothing but support him since the day of his arrival. How could he think she would want to cause his downfall?  
Edith sobbed hard as humiliation washed over her. What did she do to deserve such treatment in this holy place? Hadn't she lived her life as a faithful servant of the Almighty?  
She felt her gaze before she saw her.  
The rites went on undisturbed, with the people kneeling and receiving at the hand of the Father. Sansa stood at the end of the line, back straight, hands in her lap. The girl she was when she descended onto this village that fateful autumn afternoon. Her head was turned towards Edith, those bright blue eyes fixed upon her in a steady gaze. Edith almost felt too ashamed to look back, but the girl's demeanor commanded attention. When she finally locked eyes with Sansa, Edith saw nothing of the mockery she expected. Instead there was a meekness in the girl's eyes that spoke of concern. And pity.  
_Look at me. I shall forgive you._  
Edith froze. She kept staring even after Sansa had turned away and moved closer to the altar. Even after she had reached the Father and knelt before him, face raised, eyes not leaving his. And when the girl parted her lips to welcome the Father's exploring fingers, Edith finally understood.  
This was not Lilith sent to seduce mankind.  
Nor Eve, waiting to be corrupted.  
This was Sansa, willing but yielding, soft but hardened, pure but incomplete. 

An angel choosing to fall. 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a long time, so i hope it turned out alright.  
> I recently read Paula Hawkins' "The Girl on the Train" and was intrigued by the use of an unreliable narrator. Thus the character of Edith was conceived :)


End file.
